Ace Attorney :: The Butcher's Hook
by MekQuarrie
Summary: The city never sleeps. And neither does crime. :: Based in the world of Phoenix Wright around original characters created by catkittycool321. Story and other incidental characters by MekQuarrie. :: 'Wu' kanji reworked from wikimedia commons.
1. Chapter 1

Kasumi showed her travel pass then pushed aside the indifferent youths blocking the entrance to the bus. "Watch out," a spiky haired rocker mouthed. "Why not ride that thing, instead of bringing it on board?"

She ignored his helpful commentary and lugged the folded commuter bike to the luggage rack. A young boy was sitting in it listening to his Walkman and appeared unaware that she needed the space. She raised her eyebrows and made sure his darting eyes caught her gaze.

He pulled one of the buds from his ear and shook his head. German electronica whistled optimistically from the earphone. "No room," he said returning the bud to his ear. She lifted the bicycle and pressed it into the left edge of the rack then let the ride of the bus bounce it painfully into the elbow and ribs of the seated youth. "Ah. Just enough room for a little one," she said. His face screwed up in anger, but he stepped down from the luggage rack and stalked away to the rear of the bus as it moved off along the street to the next stop.

"I like your pants," said a lecherous old man on the side benches. "Are you a superhero?" He nudged a similarly enthralled senior beside him. They both laughed heartily. She kept facing the luggage rack, but cursed her spandex leggings. The striped pattern had looked modern and bright in the shop, but it had taken a few weeks before she realized that the stripes merged inappropriately to highlight her rear end.

Normally she would take the bus or the metro to the Court House, but it was so late at night. She knew the public transit would cease at midnight and she would have to walk all the way home if she did not bring her bicycle.

At the next stop another group of people filed neatly onto the bus. Kasumi quietly willed them to get on quickly. At the end of the line, a fraught little man squeezed thru the doors as the driver closed them and drove off impatiently.

She could vaguely hear him muttering. "Aren't you interested?" he said. The driver nodded at the displayed travelpass without real interest and navigated the bus into the evening traffic. Kasumi could see the fretting man's neck was red and sweating around the blue collar of his shirt.

What is bothering him? she wondered. Maybe a school teacher with exams to mark? Maybe an accountant with an avalanche of tax forms to file? She kept staring as he pushed past toward the back of the bus. His eyes flitted left and right. A guilty secret? Maybe a bottle of something illicit in the paper bag in his hand? Maybe some explosive document in the thin briefcase held in the same hand?

But Kasumi reminded herself of one thing. Her vocation was not to judge; it was to defend. The notable man stood quietly at the back window, a cloud of emotion hanging over him.

**:::**

After another half-hour, Kasumi stared out of the front window trying to see if her stop was approaching. Although she often traveled on this route during the working day, things looked different in the evening. There were more lights and neon signs and even the crowds of people moved in a different way. She was already running late. At what point would her hastily planned journey no longer be worthwhile?

The vodka bottle tumbled to the deck of the bus. The man with the blue collar lurched to the front of the bus, bumping into the passengers on the left and the right. "Get out of the way," he grumbled.

Kasumi stared at him as casually as she could as he approached the front doors. He looked angry and scared, but maybe he was just running late. It was, after all, a terrible time of night to be returning home from the office. It was, of course, an even worse time to be going out to an office.

"You've left your coat," she said in a friendly tone. "Don't forget it. It looks like rain later."

His nostrils flared as he noticed her. He pushed the shirt collar up around his neck as if this was sufficient protection against the weather. He opened his mouth to talk, but no words came out. Then his eyes closed lazily, tuning everything out, and he strode to the front exit door.

His stare and his manner caught her attention in an odd way. Kasumi had a thought. What is he going to do next?

"Watch out," she shouted to the driver. The agitated accountant swung his hand against the perspex of the driver's cab. A long thin screwdriver was jabbed into one of the voice holes, then withdrawn almost as quickly. The driver had turned to Kasumi's voice then flinched. The screwdriver was poked thru the slot again, and then, with increasing frustration, scraped on the plastic glass.

Kasumi covered her mouth, frozen with fear. The other passengers were starting to shout and point. She felt the swell of people behind her pushing her toward the front of the bus as the accountant turned back to face her, his hand raised with the tiny weapon.

"Keep your hands off her," yelled one of the older men. The two feeble jokers tumbled into the body of the assailant and scuffled badly with him, a metal walking stick flailing outwards. More shrieks were accompanied by the accountant pushing the men away, his hands now empty. He stood momentarily in the doorway then stepped off the bus and sprinted away clumsily.

"Where's the screwdriver?" asked the bus driver. He turned agitated in his chair, still sealed behind the window of the cab.

"Don't touch it," said Kasumi rapidly. "The police will need it for prints." The sparkle of her legal brain briefly blotted out the pumping of her heart, but then she started to breathe more heavily. "Stay calm," she thought. "It's going to be a long night."


	2. Chapter 2

"What are you doing here? said Katsuo. "I have a very confidential meeting taking place." He did not explain why he was in the lobby of the Court House at such a late hour.

Kasumi did her best to smooth out the wrinkles in her cycling clothes and put the shape back into her hair. Normally she wheeled the bike along the lower floor to her own office to keep it safe, but she was in such a hurry she took the chance of locking it up at the municipal rack at the front of the building.

"I got a call from one of the clerks," she said. "Someone added an extra prisoner at the start of the arraignment list for tomorrow. Prisoner Zero." She rubbed her cheeks and faced him squarely.

Katsuo laughed aloud. "I have no idea what you are talking about." He put one hand on his hip and let his forehead wrinkle.

"That doesn't really surprise me," she sighed. "You very rarely sound like you know what I'm talking about. But allow me to explain. Every person in custody has a right to representation. Whoever you've got here in the middle of the night needs to know that. You did read them their rights?"

He smirked, but did not reveal anything. "Not everyone wants representation. Go home and get some sleep. There are a lot of speeding tickets for you to deal with in the morning."

She frowned and pulled a small sized iPad from her coat pocket. There was a scan of a printout of the original PDF. The quality was terrible. "There. The first arraignment is at eight thirty. Someone has written a comment in ink in the line before it." She tapped the top of the image.

He looked lazily at the sheet. "Seriously? That could say anything."

"Who is it?" she demanded. She flipped the image on the screen until the handwritten words filled the space. The name was illegible but the number beside it was a flat, red '0'.

He leaned back. "Ooh. Drama." He took the tablet from her hand then tapped the picture to access the original email.

"Give me that," she said and swiped the iPad back. "You have the arraignment sheet already."

He looked down at his feet and sighed. "Listen, Kasumi."

"Who is it?" she repeated.

"Listen, Kasumi," he repeated, looking up. "This is big boys' stuff. Let the proper justice system deal with it."

Her eyes widened furiously. "Excuse me? Boys?"

"You've heard of the Blue Bank Massacre? Yes?" He pressed his cheeks into a hard smile.

Her shoulders and back cooled to a sweaty chill.

Katsuo continued. "There were a lot of executioners there, but the papers called the leader the Yakuza Butcher. A little lurid, but he's called that for a very good reason. And it's not because he's bad at karaoke."

"I don't care," she started to say. She felt her throat tighten. "He…" she stopped as the word squeaked in the top of her throat.

**:::**

"Wait here," said Katsuo. He flipped a light switch and gestured vaguely around the main room of his office suite. "I'll see what can be done."

Kasumi tried to appear indifferent. "I'll wait downstairs in the Public Defender's office. You can call me there when you're ready."

"If!" he emphasized. "Just wait in here. It won't take me long to find out what I need."

"When!" she repeated. "Off you go then. Don't keep me waiting." She started to push random objects around one of his desks.

Katsuo frowned at her carelessness. "Don't touch anything," he instructed. "And don't read any confidential papers." He lifted his cane in a pointing motion.

Kasumi sighed. "Are you still here? I shall have to take the interview myself."

Katsuo growled and left his office. Kasumi watched his back disappear down the hall past dozens of anonymous doors, the cane tapping intermittently on the tiled floor, until finally he turned at the far end into the holding area.

Kasumi sat on the chair at the biggest desk, assuming that Katsuo wanted the best view of anyone approaching. She played briefly with a bluetooth speaker beside the desk monitor watched the corridor, then swung her feet down onto the floor. She wondered who he might be calling to discuss her presence. She was often curious, and she was curious now.

She walked quietly to the office door and peered down the hall to check that Katsuo was not coming back straight away. She counted to ten, listened carefully to the quietness within the building, then walked lightly along the hall past the monotonous doors of the clerical staff, none of whom she had ever visited. At the end of the hall, she looked around the corner.

Katsuo was not making a call; he was talking to an older man behind the divider. Kasumi could just about make out the highly styled but also highly white hair of the gentleman talking. She had no idea who it was.

Their voices were at a low murmur. She could not work out the accent of the hidden man, but the deep throaty tone suggested to her that he had been a cigarette smoker for several decades. And he coughed frequently. She waited for about thirty seconds, but could not tune in to the rhythm of the words or interpret anything from the shadow figure. It was time to go.

**:::**

"The official word is that no debriefing is taking place so you cannot attend." Katsuo filled the doorway of his office.

"But?" Kasumi added. Her Converses squeaked on the soft top of the desk.

He shook his head irritated. "And. And you can not attend. No prisoner, no client, no case, no attorney." He stepped forward with the flat of his right hand ready to sweep her feet from his working space.

"That's not going to work for you, Katsuo," she explained. "The Law demands representation. Not public opinion. Public opinion demands hanging and whipping. But we support the Law, and that means this prisoner gets counsel, secret counsel if it has to be, but he gets counsel."


	3. Chapter 3

Kasumi sat with her manicured fingers on the metal surface of the interview table. Terrified. An antiquated tape machine appeared to be functioning adequately, both tape wheels turning smoothly. She tried to hide a yawn.

"What do you put in your coffee?" asked Katsuo. He pressed his fingertips onto the dull surface of the table.

"Black. Four sugars," Prisoner Zero replied. His mouth closed firmly again and his nostrils flared. His shoulders flexed and the complex chains around his wrists rattled generously.

Katsuo laughed indulgently and exchanged a look of amusement with the broad shape of the police man guarding the door of the gloomy interrogation room.

"I'm sorry," Katsuo continued. "I was not being polite. I was asking about your domestic habits." He pretended to read a printed out report. "Someone tells me you grind a little rhino horn into your evening brew." The prisoner kept his face still, but Kasumi could see him hold his breath for a fraction of a second. She tried not to show her own response to his odd habits.

"Did you know," Katsuo continued, "in some countries you can go to jail for longer for importing this stuff than you can for killing someone? A minor homicide, of course. But it's the sad world we live in."

Kasumi did not have time for his joke. She cleared her throat. "Can we stick to the real line of questioning?" she said. "Whatever that is."

Katsuo looked briefly at Kasumi's tiny shape seated oddly adjacent to the slumped bulk of the Butcher. "I'm sorry," he said without emotion, then turned back to the prisoner. "Maybe we could discuss what newspaper you take in the morning?"

"Reading is bad for you," Prisoner Zero chirped. "What do those news people know?"

Katsuo raised his eyebrows. "But the owner of the 'Sunset' has connections to your gang. The editorials are more critical of the police chief than certain business operations I could mention."

The prisoner shrugged. He looked up at the mesh blocking the long exterior window near the ceiling.

"Katsuo," she began. "Can you move on to any specific allegations, Prosecutor? So far you've been trivial and sarcastic. No-one here is interested in your cheap theater and bad timing."

Katsuo looked at her briefly, then returned to the captive. "What did you put in the pies?"

Kasumi frowned. Prisoner Zero smiled like a demented circus act. "Everything is above the table. Why do you ask me such childish questions?"

Kasumi tapped her pencil in the open page and kept her face still. "Katsuo. Prosecutor. This is ridiculous. The prisoner has a right to know the reason for his detention. Has that even been explained to him?"

Katsuo smiled at Prisoner Zero. "How do you like your public defender? She was all we could find at short notice." His lip curled minutely into a sneer. "But be assured, she has all the textbooks neatly arranged on a shelf at home."

The prisoner's face stayed taut, the tiny nostrils twitching momentarily. "She's no Phoenix Wright," said her client. She felt her cheeks start to burn. "But I don't need Phoenix Wright. I don't need any hotshot attorney." His elbow shot out sideways and pushed Katsumi's shoulder. She shrieked as the chair tumbled sideways and she rolled onto the floor.

A quiet commotion followed, mostly underlined by her own threats and cursing.

She pushed the turned-over chair away from her with her feet, then pushed herself up on her left elbow. The prisoner was being held under the chin by the big police sergeant whose hidden hand appeared to be pinching the back of Zero's were both locked together. Katsuo had not moved from his chair.

"Get him seated again," said Katsuo.

"This interview is over," said Kasumi. She placed the notepad on the desk and pulled herself to her feet with as much dignity as she could.

Katsuo stood up slowly, placing his hands on his hips. "How do you come to this conclusion?"

"My client is too agitated to answer such ridiculous questions." Her eyes flitted to the grunting and twitching lump that was the prisoner. She did not add her own sense of disarray. She just knew she had to stay strong.

Katsuo looked at the floor. "Agitation is perfectly normal during interrogation. We would never have any cases if we asked how our suspects to give us a happiness rating every five minutes. I told you before. We're not following the usual directives. If you yourself wish to leave, we could all live with that."

She smoothed her hair up into its normal shape, then shook her head. "No more questions tonight."

Katsuo smiled as patronizingly as he could, then nodded to the police guard and to the door. "Take him to the other facility. All the initial paperwork is done anyway."

The prisoner was taken away, his head gripped tightly from behind, his furious face pointing directly at the floor. Katsuo sat back on the edge of the table looking at some printed notes.

"This is highly unethical," Kasumi hissed. She gathered her pen and some other notes from the floor.

Katsuo looked down at his shoes to avoid her scowl. "All perfectly legal under organized crime and anti-terror orders. And I'm sure you noticed that we get paid to deal with only what is legal. Leave 'ethics' to your hippy blogger friends." He looked up firmly, his mouth stretched into a flat line.

She straightened her jacket and buckled her bag. "I am to be present at all future questioning." She flipped a foil-backed business card on the desk. "You have my number."

Katsuo looked up at the ceiling. "I did just see him assault you. I have a feeling that he's not going to demand any more of your help." He turned to the tape machine and pressed the heavy plastic 'Stop' button.

Here eyes were furious. "He would have lashed out at anyone within reach. You still have to give me access."

"Time to go home," he said walking directly from the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Kasumi drank the last of the coffee from the vending machine cup and popped two more herbal painkillers in her mouth. The Court House was almost silent apart from the two wide security guards on the main entrance. "Goodnight, Ms. Kasumi," they each said with a wave and a wide grin.

"Goodnight boys."

She did not look forward to the ride on her bicycle back to her apartment. The traffic in the city never stopped, but it was lighter at this time of night. Perhaps she would ride to the metro station and check if she could still travel home from there?

Outside the Court House, she wrestled with the solid lock that fixed her bicycle to the rack down the steps at street level.

"Where are you heading?" shouted a voice from across the street. Kasumi ignored the voice as she always did when strange men tried to get her attention.

"Kasumi." She looked up at the use of her name. Katsuo was sitting in his open-topped Roadster perched at the lip of the exit ramp from the subterranean parking lot. "Where are you going?" he asked again.

"Home," she mumbled. "It's way the other side of town." She waved her right hand vaguely up in the air. Despite the late hour and the cold air, she did not really want him to offer her a ride.

"Of course. You're still near where your family lived. I know that part of town is up-and-coming, but I hope you're not paying too much for rent there?" He steered the purring vehicle to the edge of the sidewalk nearest her.

"As you say, it's a quiet part of town. People can relax there." She finally turned the key and the lock sprang open. She hastily stowed it in a pocket of her shoulder bag.

"Yeah. Always too quiet there for me. Boring, in fact. Hey, do you like my car?" he smiled.

She regarded the lump of metal with disdain. "I do not like cars myself, but at least it is Japanese."

"Throw your little child's bicycle in the trunk. Quickly, I pay so much tax on gas, I have no wish to waste another sip on petty talk. Quickly." He pulled a short lever that popped open the door at the rear of the vehicle, then pressed the gas pedal. The engine roared impatiently.

Kasumi grumbled and dragged the bike to the open trunk. "I will share a ride. That is what drivers should do. But you must give me a minute."

She struggled to unclip the folding mechanism. He pressed the gas pedal again and the exhaust roared without restraint.

"Throw that piece of junk away," he laughed. "Let the city take it away with the trash. Maybe they will recycle it for you. That will appeal to your liberal agenda."

She fumed as the bike finally folded in two. The nail of her little finger caught in the locking clip and she squealed. "Bitch," she whispered.

She stepped back to the passenger door of the car. Katsuo winked and fetched his shaded driving glasses from the side pocket of his door. Kasumi had not expected him to lean over to open the door for her, no-one ever did that any more, but it seemed obvious that he had not even thought of it as a thing to do. She hooked her boot and lower leg over the door and, with a smooth bump, slipped into the seat in one movement.

"What kept you?" he blinked as the car jumped forward. She suspected that he might have been driving off without her had she been any longer.

"Shouldn't you buckle up?" she said over the noise of the engine. "You are an officer of the court, after all." She pulled her own seat-belt across her.

"Who would prosecute me?" he shouted over the engine noise without looking across at her. "The city has enough real 'bad guys' to deal with."

The engine roared again and the car jumped up a gear to barrel over the first intersection.

"You should come work for me," he said. She was sure he was just making conversation.

"I enjoy where I work now," she replied. "We make sure that the Law applies to everyone." She recognized the late night noodle bars and furtive pharmacies that she would normally coast by at a more leisurely pace. They had more character at slower speeds.

"I highly doubt that," he replied, letting the Roadster coast thru a red traffic signal. "How many times have you defended a real crook?"

She frowned and looked back at the previous intersection as they again coasted thru a red signal with barely a dip in speed to look out for crossing traffic. "I have clients. They need protection from heavy handed use of legal process. And I can help you with color recognition if those lights are proving difficult?"

"Ha," he said. "A few gang kids get a bit of rough handling. So what? We need to nail down the big fishes, watch them flap about a bit, then club them around the head. Job done. And blue is my favorite color." He pointed at her hair as it stayed firmly fixed to her head.

She touched the front of her hair, checking that it was still properly styled, but before she could be certain, she was thrown sideways into Katsuo's arm. The car had swerved freely onto a ramp leading to the crosstown expressway.

"Don't you have passengers often?" she grumbled. She adjusted her rainproof jacket and waited for him to reply, but he concentrated only on the road ahead. The car swept sideways onto the busier night-time traffic of the expressway.

"I thought you were going to let the back wheels drift there," she suggested.

His eyes flitted sideways. "I'm not some street hoodlum showing off to his friends in the projects." She felt pleased that she had found something to tease him over. "And the sports tread won't allow such reckless maneuvering," he added.

"Now we're getting somewhere," she thought.


	5. Chapter 5

"If you intend to kidnap me, I will not go willingly." Kasumi stared directly into the side of Katsuo's face. His eyes flitted briefly across to her then returned to the tiny pricks of light that were the only definition of the road they were careering down at an impossible speed.

"I don't understand," he said. "I thought you came in my car willingly. Yes. In fact, you jumped in of your own accord." He returned his eyes to the road ahead.

She slumped in her seat and braced her Converses on the glove-box. "I agreed to a ride home. Or to go somewhere near my apartment. This isn't even in the right direction. I can see the sea, you know?" Tiny flames picked out the distant sea-rigs.

"This is much more interesting," he replied without explanation. The street lighting had thinned out to intermittent lamps that looked antiquated and ineffective. He flipped the headlamps to their maximum beam. The road became wider and rougher, but they traveled faster and more in a straight line. She knew they were leaving the downtown area, but they might even have been leaving the town itself.

She looked out of the side window again then turned back to him. "Just so you know, I'm quite prepared to dump your body in the river if it comes to a struggle. No offence intended."

He laughed. "None taken. Although I highly doubt you could overpower me, I do not intend to test your resolve in that way."

"Do you want me to plug that in?" she said pointing at the lightweight satnav screen that lay beside the gearstick.

"No," he snorted. "I know my way by now."

"You've been before?" His involvement with the covert prisoner was intriguing and horrifying her. What were his connections?

"A couple of times. Professional reasons. Sometimes you have to climb down into the trash to get to the rats." His teeth were bared into a smile.

She thought that he was less than poetic. "I don't want to compromise any case I'm working on. We have to be careful who we talk to."

He kept his eyes ahead as the car slewed off the main carriageway and into the lattice of lanes between a grid of warehouses. After a further minute they stopped randomly in the middle of an old cobbled lane.

"Your principles are very commendable," he laughed as he got out of the car. "I should look out my old notes from law college; give you a spot test." He walked away without looking over his shoulder. He either knew she would stay seated or he had no fear of her following him.

She stayed seated and let him approach a set of double doors that allowed pedestrian access to the warehouse. He stood hunched for a minute or two. She could not tell if he was talking to someone behind the door or speaking into a small cellphone, but her eyes wandered around the cabin of the car and settled again with a rush of excitement on the plug-in satnav. She looked up and saw that he had gone, probably into the warehouse. It meant that she might have a small opportunity to find out where she was. The satnav could tell her exactly where she was, and - who could say? - that information might prove useful as a bargaining chip with Katsuo or as a clue for further investigation.

She prodded the power cable into the cigar lighter slot. The device glowed reassuringly and a title graphic cheerfully announced that her driving experience was a grand one. The inane opera calmed down to a system of compact menus and eventually a small numeric slot for a postal code to be entered. There was, as yet, no signal.

While she waited, she pressed the soft buttons tucked behind the edges of the screen. She reviewed the stored trips. The last single entry was for a seven digit postal code. She did not recognize it, but it was possible the satnav had plotted the route on a stored map without the need for cellphone tower or satellite coverage.

She felt in her breast pocket for a paper notebook, expecting to write down the number, but Katsuo's outline was back at the windshield before she could straighten herself out. She had time to knock the power cable from the 9-volt socket and let the screen go blank before he opened the door and returned to his seat with a tight smile, barely able to hide his sense of self-importance.

"We both spent a lot of the night within spitting distance of the Yakuza Butcher. This is where he lives. Or maybe I should say, it's where he works." He gestured to the stark walls of the disused warehouses and the derelict lots.

Kasumi shook her head. "Let me out. Let me have my bike." She reached over to the lever that released the trunk and pulled it clumsily.

He gestured helplessly with his palms. "This is pointless. One minute you're pushing your way into the big leagues. Now you want to go home and watch TV. Stick around for the real drama." He rested his hand on her shoulder to reassure her.

She brushed the hand away and rolled out of the passenger door. "We'll speak at the Court House as necessary."

"About what?" he asked with some surprise.

She pressed her palms together and pointed at Katsuo firmly. "Your Prisoner Zero will be expecting a trial of some kind?"

"Who's Prisoner Zero?" He said, pulling an innocent face and leaning casually on the steering wheel. "I only prosecute the names on the official list."

She frowned and her cheeks went red. She wanted to say that she would find out the name and get it onto the list. But that was the best way to make the name disappear. She had to play it cool. Be angry for a bit. Then play it cool.

She wheeled the bicycle along the street away from the warehouse. The wheels clunked and crunched on bottles of Cobra and cans of Coke. She reckoned that Katsuo was unlikely to race after her. He had almost been reluctant to bring her anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

"What are you doing in this part of town with that ridiculous hairstyle?"

Kasumi turned furiously to face the dirty figure sitting on the sidewalk, his legs and feet draped carelessly in the gutter. He pushed a small brown bottle with a European beer label. It turned insolently on its axis, but did not roll away.

"Leave me alone," she warned. "I'm heading down to the shore for some fresh air." She rolled the bicycle forward and swung her leg thru to the pedal. As soon as she could figure her way out of the little access roads, she would be gone.

"You're not a lawyer are you?" He coughed again and spat a thick gob of mucus on the broken blacktop. She paused with her foot down on the road. "Always someone coming or going," he continued. "Lawyers, cops, judges. Even the odd prosecutor." He coughed again in combination with a medically dubious laugh.

She twisted her shoulders and looked back. "Huh?"

"Sometimes I just sit here all day. If the sunlight catches me just right. No point in moving. I've got no job and no family to go to. No money for a fancy coffee." He shrugged with faux contentment. "Just sit here in my own filth watching the day go by."

"Gross," she thought. She turned back to the seated figure. "If you want to say something, you should tell me straight away. I don't plan on staying in this part of town all night." Her fingers gripped the handlebars.

"It isn't exactly my idea of a night out, either." He waved his hand in the air. "Don't let me keep you. That new cooking show is on tonight. You'll be needing to take notes." He slumped to the side and let his face drift onto the cracked brickwork of the curbing.

"You're right," she thought. "I really don't have any incentive to stay." She looked left and right to remind herself which way they had arrived in the car.

"I could trade," he said. "I know a lot of the faces that go by, some of the names that go with them too. All well off people with nice cars and suits."

"I'm not bribing you," she mocked. "And you've got the wrong idea if you think I'm rich. I spend all day reading and making other people look good."

He patted his fingers together nervously in a kind of silent clap. "Just a few beers. That's all it'll take."

"Don't be ridiculous," she frowned. "Who will sell liquor to me at this time of night?"

He sighed apologetically. "There's a 7-Eleven just up the street. Should be quiet at this time of morning. Just flutter your eyelashes at the clerk; it should be a guy. Or maybe girls like you too; I don't know. Flutter your cash either way."

Angry, she decided she would just have to ride away. "I need one name now, or I take off. Like you said, the TV is waiting."

**:::**

Kasumi returned from the convenience store about twenty minutes later with a clinking bag of bottles. She was still unsure if she had been flattered or offended by being asked to show some ID. The clerk looked underage himself and had been happy to serve some acne-ridden teenagers without question. Perhaps he had been looking for her home address on the card.

The destitute man was still sitting looking miserable when she returned. "Hey," she said with a forced kind of friendliness. "I brought the party to you."

"You know it makes sense," he replied abruptly. "First, one beer each. Then we talk."

"I'm not drinking," she said. "I have a long ride home." She pulled the first bottle out of the bag and tilted the cap toward him.

He shook his head with humility. "You had better get going now then. Leave me the beers if you still feel generous." He pulled up a handful of leaves from the clogged gutter and let them drop. He lifted up another handful and squeezed out the rancid rainwater in a small trickle.

Kasumi wanted to know what the vagrant had to say, but she half suspected that it was just a ploy to get attention and money or beer. But he could not have really known her profession, so the association with lawyers was probably real. All she needed was a few names and then she would at least be a step ahead of Katsuo.

She unscrewed the cap of a second bottle and took a big swig, then perched on the edge of the sidewalk and flipped open her Moleskine, pencil poised. "Shoot."

"Don't write this down," he warned. "I don't want this traced back to me."

She laughed. "I can just remember what you said and write it down as soon as I get round the corner. Even without notes, you'd be an obvious choice as a snitch." She pointed the pencil at him. "I'm bored of you now. Either talk and drink or I'm going."

He finished the first bottle and snapped his fingers heavily to demand another. "There was a night around Lunar New Year," he began. "Lots of cars."

The vagrant described the faces of men arriving in limousines, the names of two prosecutors she recognized. Then he described a later meeting in similar detail and times of year without actual dates.

Katsumi took notes without interpreting any links or connections. After half-an-hour, it was obvious he was going around in circles. As far as Kasumi could tell, there were about half a dozen real events described. "Got to go," she whispered.

"Are you going to ride home with all that beer on your breath?" he cackled. "You lawyer types are all the same."

"Screw you," she grumbled and steadied the handlebars of the bike. "I'm nothing like those other lawyers."

"Just stay below fifty-five," he crowed. "The cops'll ignore you then. Just keep those pink arrows pointing in the right direction."

"Shut up," she hissed and pulled onto the main road.


	7. Chapter 7

In the darkness, she pedalled firmly and evenly, counting the turns and noting each 'ten' aloud. "Ninety eight… Ninety nine… One Hundred!" She had enough energy and determination to keep going all night

The sounds of swooping seabirds did not distract her and the flares of explorer rigs on the horizon did not catch her attention. She was too deep in thought.

She thought that the towers of the business district would have been obvious by now, but there was nothing to use as a marker. There were no obvious direction signs or road markings. She might even be traveling in the wrong direction. And it was all Katsuo's fault. She would not forget this.

She looked briefly over her shoulder, noting that there were no cars at all, and certainly no-one following her. She cursed Katsuo and his smugness. She looked back and saw a little figure scuttling across the freeway. Kasumi pulled the brake levers firmly and let the back wheel buck upwards off the road.

"Watch out!" she squealed although there had been little chance of a collision. Kasumi steadied the frame and lay the bicycle down on its side at the side of the road. Sprinkles of sand at the edge of the broken blacktop suggested they were close to the water.

"Hello," said the little girl. Despite the coolness of the air she wore a light night-shirt and had bare feet.

"What are you doing out of bed at this time of the night?" She panted heavily and looked for the water-bottle fixed to the bicycle frame.

The little girl looked around and then up at the heavy blue of the sky. "It's morning for me."

Kasumi also looked up at the sky. Black clouds were turning to purple. "You might be right, but I want to get back home. Get some sleep. Which way back to the city?"

The little girl shrugged. "I thought this was the city. I must go. I have to gather the shellfish before the tide turns." She turned her shoulders back to the direction of the shore.

Kasumi was a little surprised. "Is that your breakfast? Make sure you wash them out first." She looked back across the highway and tried to see if there were dwellings or tents or trailers, somewhere that the girl might have come from.

"No," she said. "I sell them to a man in a pickup. He sells them to the fancy restaurants for a lot of money. He gives me a little and I buy things for mother. Then I go to school, so it does not bother me." She shuffled away onto the white sand.

Kasumi was reluctant to leave her bicycle, so shouted after the girl. "Do you have a cellphone? I would like to come back later. See what I can do for you and your mother."

The shadowy figure became less clear and Kasumi could only hear the end of the words drifting thru a light mist. "...always here."

**:::**

She locked the bicycle on the railing beside her apartment block. She sighed heavily and ruffled her hair as she put the key in the communal lock. The concierge desk was empty as it often was after midnight. The so-called patrol times were an excuse for the concierge to take a nap or check his e-mails or whatever else he liked to do when he could be out of sight.

She could see the edge of the little box monitor that aspired to be a significant security system. The blurred image on the square glass could have been any gloomy corner of the apartment block, and anything could have been happening. At least she had not paid a premium for this derelict approximation of duty.

She picked around the loose items in her sports bag and retrieved the curled remnants of a pad of Post-it notes. She scribbled a message on the top note and pressed it firmly onto the monitor screen. "Please look after my bicycle until morning - Kasumi. Apt. 301."

Despite the grand numbering system there were only thirty-one apartments in the whole block. The first floor covered numbers 101 to 114, and the second floor, without the concierge station and the facilities store, covered numbers 201 to 216.

Then there was the little box-shaped dwelling that was her own apartment. The grandly implied third floor was a turn in the staircase halfway up the stairs to the roof. But with its reasonable decoration and furniture, it was completely liveable and adequate for her living requirements.

She looked up the small set of steps. The lightbulb that normally shone on the heavy door of her tiny apartment was broken and the gloom hid the entrance. When she had first moved in, she had a childish fear that a ghost lived in the space under the stairs. So she always skipped quickly up the final short flight and glanced around the short corner before producing her key. When it was dark, the choice was to skip quickly up the stairs and race into the apartment or to take each step one-at-a-time and listen hard for odd sounds, creaks and whistles.

"You're back late."

She turned abruptly at the quiet voice behind her. It was the concierge, standing at the bottom of the lowest steps looking unaffected and unhurried.

"Sorry," she replied. "I had a stinker of a meeting."

"Just doing my rounds," he said with no conviction. His eyes blinked behind his spectacles. "See you in the morning." He walked off and the door to the stairwell slammed shut.

Kasumi laughed then turned and mounted the dark stairs quickly, slipped the little key in the lock and threw open her apartment door.

She stood in the little doorway and gasped, covering her mouth and letting her messenger bag drop noisily onto the floor. He was standing there in the middle of her tiny living-room. The man from the bus. The man who had meant to stab the driver. And she had stopped him.


	8. Chapter 8

"My name is Wakashi. That is really all you need to know. My job, what I once did, is not important. That is over." He stood casually at the short worktop beside the sink that passed for a kitchen in her tiny apartment.

Kasumi casually threw the bicycle lights and her messenger bag onto the small wooden settee. "This is really the wrong place to ask for professional help," she said. She instantly regretted her sarcastic tone. The man from the bus needed medical help. She needed to persuade him to seek it without causing conflict.

"You saw what I was going to do, didn't you?" He looked down at the worktop and pressed his fingertips into the scores on the surface. Kasumi had never really cooked on it, never chopped a piece of ginger root or a tomato. The single occasion when she had cut slices from a loaf had left the only signs of cooking in her tiny kitchen.

"Could you please leave," she replied. "I've had a very tiring night. If you need representation, I can give you an office number." She tried to find the small clip of cards that she kept in the breast pocket of her coat.

The kiri cleaver flashed on the plastic worktop. There was a thud on the surface and a flash of curved orange flesh.

"I should get me a set of these. Are they expensive?" He picked up the fruit and let the juice drip onto the worktop. Then he pressed the flesh of the orange against his teeth and chewed clumsily on it.

"I don't know. They were a gift. I've never used them. Never had time to make sushi. There's a store that does it cheaply just down the street." Kasumi was staring intently at the blade in Wakashi's hand, but her mind was crisply picking out which items of kitchenware she would throw at the intruder.

He threw the orange peel into the little plastic caddy by the sink that was supposed to hold food scraps. "Some people have psychic powers, little kitten. They can see into your mind. They know your thoughts before you do." He looked down at the juice staining the chopping board and shook his head.

"It's more obvious than that, Mr. Wakashi-san," she said. She could see how her momentary flash of recognition had got mixed up in his head, made her seem sympathetic to him. But it was also a big jump from a nod on the bus to turning up at her apartment. How had that happened? There was no way he could have tailed her around town all evening and out into the sticks too. No way.

"It's just 'Wakashi'. You saw and you knew." He clumsily wiped the juice from his mouth.

"You're wrong. It was just so obvious you were unhappy. All I did was look up. You can get some real help though. I'll help you to find something."

He shook his head like a child. "No-one else cares. They can't know how unhappy I am. They don't want to know. But you saw it." His eyes were wet but no tears were forming.

It all seemed very obvious to her. Wakashi was still unsure what he was doing at the apartment. And he was undecided about what to do now that he had found her.

The electric kettle started to bubble, then almost instantly a loud click marked that its work was done.

"Tea?" he said placing the kiri down on the chopping board..

"No," she said firmly. "I'm tired. You should really go now." She smiled curtly.

"Go where?" Wakashi shrugged and shuffled away from the sink. Now he was a lot closer to her. He picked the TV remote from a neatly arranged pocket on the arm of the settee and pushed the most recognizable buttons. The picture on the screen jumped to life instantly showing an exciting opportunity to purchase semi-authentic jewelry. "TV is so bad at this time of night," he muttered to himself. "I try to watch at home, but there's really nothing worth watching."

"Please put that down now, and leave," Katsuo pointed toward the door. "We can talk in a more professional setting. Tomorrow. Or Friday. I'm guessing you know where my office is."

He kept the remote pointed at the TV set and let the channels jump up in number, one at a time. "Yes. The security staff were most helpful. But what will we say to each other that we cannot say now?" A series of casino and gaming channels were overhauled by a succession of unsubscribed or out of business stations indicated by a calm dark blue screen and a jarring hissing noise.

"We will see," she said calmly. "But tomorrow. In the afternoon. I don't want to judge beforehand what we will discuss…"

"Judge!" he shouted. "You think you can judge me?"

He threw the remote at her face and lunged at her. She cried out as the fingers of both his hands tore into her upper arms. She could see now that he had decided to hurt her. It was too obvious.

She fell back onto the kitchen worktop and turned away, ready to grab at the nearest object. She could see the stoneware mortar for grinding spices was just within reach at the edge of the kitchen worktop. She had to decide, now, to lift it up and hit him in the face. She had to do it. Now.

But he was silent. His gripping hands had fallen away.

She turned to face him. His face was fixed there, spit dripping from twisted lips. A sharp metallic blade was sticking out of his breastbone.

Kasumi gasped at the face of Katsuo staring at her from behind the blue-collar shoulder, his teeth bared, his breath panting. The blade disappeared and the body fell.

"I think that deals with his 'psychic powers' shit," Katsuo hissed. "You have to admit even you didn't see that coming."


End file.
